The Case Of the Blue Duvet
by MrsCumberbatch
Summary: Or how John ended up sharing the same bed with Sherlock Holmes. COMPLETE.
1. The Missing Duvet

** I do not own Sherlock. **

**Warnings: Not an English speaker, any mistake is mine and I apologize beforehand for them.**

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It wasn't Sarah's fault and the fact he had been working for more than ten hours non stop, no. It wasn't the new cashier's fault at Tesco for not accepting his credit card, no. It wasn't the fact that his favourite football team had lost, no. John Watson wasn't angry because of all those events, no. John Watson was angry because his blue duvet, his favourite blue duvet had disappeared.

And how on Earth a duvet can possibly disappear from his bed, from his room and more likely, from Baker Street?

Because after looking, searching, seeking and exploring 221A (Mrs Hudson's), 221B (his own flat) and 221C (the not habited room) John couldn't find his favourite blue duvet. The one who used to keep him warm and protected on winter nights and some lazy days.

The duvet was nowhere to be seen. And for some reason, John Watson knew his flatmate have had something to do with it.

"I haven't seen it"

"I'm not asking you if you have seen it, Sherlock. I'm asking you what have you done with it! It is my favourite duvet, you knew it!"

Far from worried, his flatmate, a six foot tall 'Consulting Detective I invented the job' named Sherlock Holmes, didn't show any concern to say the least about the missing duvet. And the situation was getting John's nerves.

"I'm telling you I haven't seen it, therefore I haven't done anything to your precious and beloved blue duvet"

"And what I'm supposed to use tonight, huh? We are on fucking winter and it's fucking cold!"

"Have you asked Mrs Hudson? I'm sure she has one or two she can lend you. Though I'm sure they are pink or lavender or yellow judging by-"

"Yes, I asked her. She doesn't have a spare one"

"Go and buy one"

John sighed and placed his hands under his tired legs. He really wanted to punch that man in the face. Really. For someone so clever, Sherlock could be such a fool sometimes.

Sherlock was reading a very fat book, sitting in his usual black armchair and John was fighting the impulse of hitting his head with his Union Jack pillow.

"You don't know the date, do you? I'm not getting paid for at least three more weeks"

And this is what John can't really erase from his memory.

"Sleep with me"

"What?"

"Oh, I forgot I was talking to you. I meant that you can sleep with me, in my bed. I'd lend you my own duvet, but I have to sleep and it's cold-"

"And since when do you sleep at nights?"

"John, you're a Doctor, you keep telling me I need to eat four to six time per day and sleep eight hours at night. Do keep up"

"I'm not going to share the same bed with you, Sherlock"

"Why? I'm not the type who, how's the word?"

"What word?"

"That word you use when your sexual partners glue their bodies to yours"

"Cuddle?"

"Ah yes, _cuddle_. I'm not that type. Well, I have to do some search on that since I always sleep alone-"

"I'm not going to be part of your experiments!"

"It's not an experiment"

"What is it then?"

"I'm simply offering you the other side of my bed until you get yourself a duvet. I think the term will be labeled under what you usually call 'that's what friends do', am I right? What am I saying, of course I'm right"

John closed his blue eyes. It was getting late, he needed to sleep, it was a cold night, he was feeling cold, and at the top of that, he still wanted to punch Sherlock on the face. He was his good friend, of course. But sometimes, he had that feeling that the detective was enjoying these situations.

Situations in which:

One. John depends on Sherlock for the most stupidest things in life such as _'Don't use all the hot water'_, _'I need you to pay the gas bill', 'Sherlock, I can't reach the top drawer'._

Two. John has to admit Sherlock is always right about his sexual frustrations, such as _'She wanted you to dress like a fireman', 'She was too young and stupid to keep a proper conversation', 'John, you though she was divorced'_ and so on.

Three. John never, never can't hide something from Sherlock, such as '_You have messed my socks index!'_

To put it in a few words, Sherlock always enjoyed when John needed him, in any direct or indirect way. And that cold night wasn't different, no.

And when Sherlock decided it was time to get some rest, both men were together facing the king-sized bed, staring at it with their grey and blue eyes.

"Well, which _side_ do you prefer, John?"

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**AN: Can't keep my hands away from a new story, can I? Feel free to suggest anything you'd like to read here. I don't really know yet where I'm taking this. Should I continue?  
**


	2. 1st Night: Sleeping Arrangements

**AN: Thanks for the positive feedback, such as alerts, favs and review. Keep them coming! **  
**And I already know where I'm taking this. **

_John's thoughts or POV are in italics._

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_'Please God, tell me he uses the left side. I can't really imagine what would it be sleeping with him for three weeks. At least tell me he uses the left side. Please God-'_

"Stop thinking. It's annoying. And I do sleep on the left side. No need to discuss it"

"How do you- Never mind. Are you sure this is OK?"

The detective nodded and made his way to the left side of the bed, and with a quick movement, he was already under his white and silky sheets and then under a heavy but soft and warm duvet.

"I don't usually, correction, I never do something if I think it isn't correct or how you said it, OK. I have deduced time ago that you prefer sleeping on the right side of the bed, over your right shoulder to prevent sleeping on your left shoulder. Your wounded shoulder. And you are not a heavy man, but your own weight over your left shoulder makes you feel stress and pain in the mornings. Right side. You sleep on the right side of the bed"

John rolled his blue eyes and mimicking his flat-mate's and now roommate's movements, he made his own way under sheets and duvet, but sat with his back over the headboard.

"But I'm asking you if you are OK with your side of the bed"

"I usually sleep on the middle, but as I said, it's OK"

"OK. Good. That's... good. Good night"

"Good night John"

Both men were lying on their sides of that enormous, gigantic and warm bed not facing each other, all the opposite. They were lying over the bed in such position that their backs were just inches away from each other. John found himself extremely tired but yet unable to get some sleep. He knew this feeling, this sensation, when you feel so out of place in a strange and foreign bed. He couldn't sleep.

"Sherlock, are you awake?"

"Mmm"

"I'm programming my clock alarm. I need to be up at seven. Is that OK with you?"

"Yes"

"Good"

Sherlock didn't reply back and soon the doctor realized the man was deeply asleep. And feeling his feet warm and his eyelids heavy, john Watson could finally get some rest.

The hours passed till the clock alarm besides John started beeping. John Watson, a man who had rescued his sister from countless pubs, who had performed medical procedures in the middle of gunfire and who had met the same Hell and all its demons in a war woke up facing a pair of long and pale feet. His flatmate had moved during the night and now he was resting his dark and curly head on John's bare and warm ankles, under the duvet.

Sherlock had a very peaceful expression and John couldn't even say a word about it, at least not that day. And he couldn't help but smile. This was strange, weird and a bit awkward, yes. But he has to agree that that morning waking up besides Sherlock Holmes for the first time was nothing compared to the following twenty days.


	3. 2nd Night: Saliva

Every day was even colder than the previous one. And John Watson knew this by heart. London could be so cold on winters. And he was pretty used to this kind of weather after all. Because no matter how hard you try, you can't imagine what Afghanistan is at night, no. You can't.

And for that reason, that night, John decided it was the best for his well being to wear an old but warm jumper over his long sleeved tee shirt. And with that, he couldn't understand how Sherlock, his roommate was able to sleep wearing only a tee shirt and a pair of pants.

"Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine. A duvet is fine"

"OK then. Good night, Sherlock"

"Good night, John"

And like their previous and first night sleeping together, they repeated the same actions and words and went to sleep quietly.

Maybe it happened because it was a very cold night. John can't tell right now either. He woke up at seven in the morning, as every day and found himself lying over his back. And something heavy, curly, dark and soft was resting over his right shoulder. And somehow Sherlock managed to move, not only him but himself as well. Sherlock was lying on the right side of the bed, John's side.

The doctor turned his head to see his flatmate, with a very peaceful expression on his face, lying over his right shoulder, his good shoulder. Little droplets of saliva were falling from his open mouth and they were leaving John's soft and warm jumper wet.

And maybe because it was too early, and John felt so warm and protected under that duvet, property of Sherlock Holmes, he can't tell now but he didn't say a word. Instead of that, he made his way off that bed quietly, trying his best to not wake Sherlock up. He yawned, and covered his flat-mate's torso with the duvet and closed the door behind him.

What John didn't see that morning was Sherlock holding his pillow, John's pillow, tightly against his chest and inhaling his scent with every breathe.


	4. 3rd Night: Kicks

The third night, John felt relieved. The first two nights were so awkward. Every night he felt so tired but yet he couldn't conceive any sleep until late hours in the night. Because that feeling of being on a strange, foreign bed was always there. And the feeling was telling him the same comments _'What are you doing here, John? This is not your bed and you know you can go and ask Harry for a duvet. Or Sarah. Or even take one from surgery. What are you doing here?'_

Because that feeling was right. John could go and ask her sister, of course. He could go and ask Sarah, she wasn't his girlfriend anymore, but they were on good terms, of course. Or he could take a duvet from surgery and then return it back in nineteen days, of course.

But sharing the same bed with his flatmate was a mystery. It was such a big and tempting mystery, John preferred to be deaf and dumb and not face his own thoughts and sleep with Sherlock Holmes. Well, not sleep in that way, but share the same bed and the same warm and soft duvet. After all, they were the only ones who had any knowledge about their arrangement. And Mrs Hudson of course. For some reason, their landlady had knowledge about everything.

And in their third night, John fell asleep as soon as he rested his head over the pillow. His pillow. Well, it was property of Sherlock Holmes, but he claimed it as his own.

His dream was so good. So good. He can't even remember it completely though. But it involved a warm cup of tea, a nice and sunny day free from work and Sherlock-

Something kicked him.

Someone kicked him.

Sherlock kicked him.

John turned around to see his flatmate and roommate frowning and murmuring incoherent things. His dark and soft curls were falling over his eyes, making impossible for John to see if he was awake or not.

"Sherlock, stop kicking me!"

"Myc wanna play..."

The doctor shook Sherlock's shoulders and the man woke up meeting John's surprised eyes. Even in the darkness of the room, he was still able to distinguish his flat-mate's blue eyes.

"John?"

"What happened, Sherlock?"

Holmes hesitated. His grey eyes danced around him until he realized where he was and who was the man sleeping beside him.

"I was on my REM state. I was having an unpleasant memory and it was pictured on my REM state"

John rubbed his face with his hands and turned around to sleep again.

"You can say nightmare, you know"

"I don't have nightmares!"

"You kicked me in your sleep!"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!"

The six foot tall detective pouted and turned around, to his left side of the bed, grabbing a big part of the duvet they had been sharing for three nights now and closed his eyes trying to sleep.

He could feel John's silent giggles.

And they were so contagious.

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**I feel really happy writing this. A good change after 'Verita Liberabit vos', isn't it?**

**I want to update the next chapter now... *naughty smile*, C'mon, review and let me know your opinions!  
**


	5. 4th Night: Let's talk about sex

**A reviewer pointed out that this is looking slashy. THIS WILL NOT HAVE SLASH. AND THE GENRE IS FRIENDSHIP, AND FRIENDS THEY WILL BE.**

**Aaaaanother thing, if you are fluent in Spanish or if your first language is Spanish and you read "John, Take a Look Please VOL1" you can read the translated version here http: / www . fanfiction . net /s/ 8079858 /1/ remove the spaces obviously. Thanks to Saubree for being a darling and translate the story :)**

**Thanks for the alerts, favs and reviews! Keep them coming :]  
**

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That night, the fourth night of their 'three weeks sleeping on the same bed', they talked about sex. And it took John for surprise when Sherlock asked him.

"Why do you have sexual encounters, John?"

"What?"

The doctor was sitting with his back over the headboard and he was reading a medical journal when his friend, from out of the blue and with half of his face hidden under the duvet asked the question.

"Why do you have intercourse, John?"

And John didn't need to think his answer twice.

"I'm not going to answer that question, Sherlock"

"Why not? You are not the inhibited type. You had several women or girlfriends as you call them last year. You feel comfortable around when we are watching one of those movies you make me watch with you because you say I need to have some 'pop culture' and they have sex scenes or nudity. You don't look embarrassed or uncomfortable when we have cases that involves sex, naked corpses nor evidence on genitalia like our latest one in which the victim had a ring on his-"

"OK, I get it. I don't feel shy talking about sex. But I'm not going to answer that question"

"Why?"

"Because there are certain things friends don't talk about. And sex is one of them"

"Yes it is-"

"No it isn't. I didn't ask you when Mycroft mentioned your apparently non existent sex life nor your lack of knowledge about the subject!"

And with that, Sherlock tossed and turned to his side, giving his back to John, meaning the conversation was over. The doctor could feel how angry and also the shyness radiating from his flat-mate's body and rolled his eyes. He didn't mean to harm his friend, no. But he wasn't ready to talk about that with Sherlock. Not now. not yet.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't want to hurt your feelings-"

"You didn't hurt me nor what you call 'feelings'. I was simply asking you a question, not to you personally, but you as the medical man you are. I expressed myself in a wrong way"

John raised his eyebrows and sighed.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why do people find amusing to have intercourse?"

John had to admit it was a difficult question to answer. And he had two possible answers. One of them was from John Watson and the other one was from Dr. John Watson. And Sherlock Holmes, well, he was Sherlock Holmes. He was going to demand a medical and scientific explanation than rather one coming from a normal man with normal needs.

"Well, I think it's because of the feeling and the sensation of pleasure sex, intercourse offers to women and men. It involves feelings and sentiment. Sometimes, though. But ultimately it's just an act we perform since ages ago. It's something people do as an instinct to reproduce or simply because of the feeling, but at the end everyone wants to have sex and-"

"I don't want to have sex"

John looked at Sherlock and tried his best to not laugh. The only part visible of his friend was his eyes and his curly head. The rest was protected under that powerful duvet.

"Well, you don't. OK. But other people do"

"Mmm, I think I'm going to sleep"

"Good night"

"Good night"

And seventeen minutes later, a very sleepy John could feel a long and cold finger hitting his left shoulder.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"How does it feel like?"

"How does it feel like what, Sherlock?"

The detective wanted to roll his eyes, but it was true John had really forgotten all about their previous conversation.

"How does sex feel like?"

"What?"

John turned on the little lamp on the beside table and looked at Sherlock. His expression was priceless. He was there, looking at him like if he were asking the most stupidest question ever. And John understood the conversation wasn't over.

"How does sex feel like? Well, it feels... good"

"John"

And Sherlock used his warning tone. The same one he always used when John had more words to express himself.

"OK, it feels more than good. It's a very pleasant sensation. I mean, when you are with the person you love or like. It's always good to feel close to that person-"

"I have to admit I can't comprehend what are you talking about"

"Maybe because you need to be in love"

"Mmm. Good night, John"

"Good night, Sherlock"

No one said a word about the subject in the following morning nor any other night.


	6. 5th Night: Football

**AN: I have to warn you beforehand you may find this chapter a bit shitty. My apologies. And another warning for John's swearing. And to answer my reviewer stargirlXxx, yes I do read reviews and don't worry, they will not snog or fuck each other. They will be friends :)  
**

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The fifth night they watched a football match together under Sherlock's soft and warm duvet.

It wasn't that bad, if you ask Sherlock. After all, there weren't any unsolved cases, it was John's free day from surgery and they were just too warm and comfy to take the duvet and move themselves to the sofa, so John took the telly from the sitting room to Sherlock's and it was a cold afternoon. Yeah, that equation was pretty bad wasn't it. But at least they had some fun. Because no matter how loud John screamed, the team wasn't hearing him. And Sherlock told him.

"Why do you give them instructions if they aren't listening to you? Seriously John, I can't see or I can't understand what makes you feel and act this way towards twenty two men running behind a ball-"

"Twenty three. You didn't count the referee"

"Twenty three then-"

"Oh fuck off, did you see that? He almost scored- NO!"

Sherlock looked at the screen to see the reason why his flatmate and friend was almost ripping his hairs off his head. One of the blue ones almost scored but the ball hit one of the post of the goal box. The red team was pushing and pushing who Sherlock deduced were John's favourite football team.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"We need to score and win if we want to be at the top, Sherlock. Three more points and with the goal difference and we are going to win"

"Mmm. I want tea, John"

"Make it yourself, I won't miss any minute of this match"

"But-"

"I won't. Go and do it yourself"

Sherlock pouted and made his way to the kitchen. And while he was preparing the two mugs with hot and sweet Earl Grey, John screamed.

"GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAL! YEEEESSSSSSS!"

This didn't surprise the detective. John was very fond of football. He was a fan of the Manchester City. He made a mental note to himself to investigate everything about that team and even research about John's favourite players and then, he hated this, but he could ask Mycroft to move some strings for him to get John his favourite player shirt signed for him. Yeah, that was a good plan for his birthday present-

"Did they score?"

"Yeah. Kompany. Amazing goal. We are winning, Sherlock!"

The detective handed him the mug with tea and both enjoyed the break between the half times while John explained Sherlock things about football. And Sherlock tried to tell John which team was going to win judging by the statistics and for another things the doctor couldn't keep up with him.

The second half passed with John yelling at the screen of the telly and Sherlock observing him and the match. He finally caught the name of his friend's favourite player, and texted his brother to move some of his contacts for him.

**_'Who could have guessed. Sherlock Holmes asking for a footballer's shirt'. MH_**

**_'It's for John. And now for that comment, I want that footballer here in Baker Street giving John his signed shirt'. SH_**

**_'If you thought that is a trouble to me, you are wrong. He will be there in a few days, on John's birthday'. MH_**

And with that, Sherlock had settled John's present for his birthday which was coming soon.

Despite the fact the match ended early, John was too tired to eat some dinner and decided he was going to sleep early. Sherlock nodded to this and made his way to the kitchen, to keep an eye on his experiments.

He will never know how much time passed, until he felt John's hand over his shoulder. His grey eyes left the microscope and met his doctor's blue ones.

"It's late, Sherlock. Let's go to sleep"

That night, Sherlock remembered something his mother told him when he was a little kid. That if you do something bad to someone, that action may not let you sleep at night. And that was happening to the detective that sixth night. Because he could understand why John was so fond of that blue duvet. And maybe he shouldn't have burnt it as an experiment. But he had now fifteen more nights to be close to his friend in a way he would never admit. But John's birthday was close, in fifteen days in fact. So maybe getting him a shirt and his favourite football player would make it for the duvet.

Or that's what he thought.

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**Sherlock, how could you? Anyway, you'll have to wait a bit to see what happens on John's birthday and who is his favourite football player. It took me a while to think which team I wanted John to be fond of, so I finally decided that he should be a City fan, like the writer of this story (ha).**


	7. 6th Night: Sick

**AN: A small update before going out. Just so you know, this story will be updated every day, so expect a new chapter per day. Thanks for the alerts and favs and revs :) it's always lovely to know who likes this. **

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The sixth night sleeping together, John had planned to go to sleep early since he had a very early shift to cover the following morning. Sherlock was away in some domestic case he denied to work on till Lestrade almost begged him on his knees for his help. And as always, John warned his friend it was a lot not good to do that, but at the end, Sherlock put Lestrade on speakerphone and the DI begged him for minutes until finally the consulting detective decided he was going to help him.

So after reading a good novel, John went to sleep but minutes after he could conceive any sleep, Sherlock was already at home.

And he looked so sick.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong or incorrect or imperfect. I am fine and I am going to sleep"

"You don't look fine, you look pale and you're sweating-"

"I'm fine, John"

The taller man just kicked off his YSL shoes and made his way under his duvet not caring the fact he was still dressed on his dark and expensive suit.

"Sherlock-"

Too late.

When Holmes turned around, he tried to open his mouth to say something but he couldn't prevent himself from feeling sick and he finally vomited over his friend's body.

"Jawn I'm so so-"

Another massive amount of vomit covered not only John but the whole bed and now both men were really dirty. John, far away from being angry just started to make Sherlock sit on the bed and moved his hand up and down on his friend's back in order to make him feel better.

"It's OK Sherlock, do you feel better now? I think you don't have anything else on your stomach now"

"I'm sorry-"

"It's OK. Let's get this clean"

Surprisingly enough the only thing not covered by Sherlock's vomit was the black, soft and warm duvet. Both men had to change their clothes and the sheets and it was already too late in the night when they could rest their heads over the pillow. This time, a very warned John placed a pail beside Sherlock's side of the bed just in case he felt ill in some moment of the night.

"I'm sorry for what happened, John. I didn't mean to... to vomit over you"

"It's all fine, Sherlock. I think it's food poisoning, but I can't think of anything you could have eat that made you feel this sick"

"John... promise me you won't get angry"

The doctor was very tired and it was late. So he just nodded and tried to keep up with what his friend was about to say.

"I ate your slice of cake Mrs Hudson baked-"

"But!-"

"You promised, John!"

"Sherlock, Mrs Hudson brought us two slices and I gave you the biggest one!"

"I know, but it was very tasty!"

"I was saving it for my breakfast tomorrow!"

"I'm sorry, OK? I apologize. Please, John. I know how much you wanted to eat it-"

"Of course I wanted to eat it!"

Sherlock really didn't know what to say. So he hide himself under the duvet and turned to his left side, giving his back to John. He could hear his friend silent sigh and that made him feel more ill and thanks God John gave him that pail, because he could have soiled the new sheets again.

And John was angry, of course he was angry. But hearing his friend vomiting made him turn and handed him a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?"

"Ill"

"Well, from what I can see, that was the last thing your stomach had"

"I'm sorry John"

"Look Sherlock, I'm not angry because I won't eat cake. I'm angry because you didn't ask me. Because if you had asked me, I'd have gave you my slice. You know I would"

"I know"

"Well, let's go to the kitchen. A cuppa and some toast will make you feel better, and maybe you can tell me about the case"

"But you have an early shift to cover in a few hours"

"Mmm, but yet I want to hear about that domestic case Lestrade begged you to solve"

Sherlock smiled just for himself and followed his friend to the kitchen, who was still wrapped with his black, soft and warm duvet.


	8. 7th Night: Harry

**AN: Thanks to stargirl4eva for pointing out my mistakes! And thanks for the alerts and favs but let me know your opinion!  
**

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"You talked to Harry today"

John turned to face his friend who was looking at him with those grey eyes and frowned.

"How do you- Never mind. Yes I talked to her"

"She's sober"

"Yes, she is"

"And she's trying to conquer that woman again, what was her name?"

"Clara"

"Ah yes, Clara"

After a seconds of silence, John spoke again. This time he was lying over his left elbow and Sherlock mimicked his position and both friends were face to face now.

"Don't say conquer like if Clara was a possession"

"You look... she told you something. And judging by the bags on your eyes or you have been crying because she told you something positive or something negative. One of two. I'd rather say that is positive for her, negative for you-"

"You can ask, you know. Not deduce like some case you always have"

Sherlock made a pause in order to let John continue with what happened with Harry.

"It's not like- it's not like this is negative for me and positive for her. We just went out to the cafe a few streets away from here and she was crying because she's getting herself sober and she knows this is for her own good and she wants Clara back. But she misses it. She misses the alcohol, the drinks, and she cried a lot, Sherlock. I really want to help her. I help people everyday but yet I can't help her"

The detective, to be honest, didn't know what to say. He was in the position of say something, say something to make his friend feel better, but he couldn't say anything.

"And then she started to remember the day she told our parents about her sexuality. Dad didn't say anything, and my mum cried and cried. I think they knew it. She never dated any bloke or something like that teenagers do. I was twelve when she said it, and I was so happy for her. I think it was new for me to know women can love each other that way, and I think that hurt my parents. But Harry was my sister and I was always going to support her. But now, I can't help her"

"John, if you need my assistance no matter how difficult or easy or domestic the case- I mean, the problem is, I'll help you"

Watson nodded and wrapped himself more under that soft duvet and turned to his side.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Good night"

"Good night, John"


	9. 8th Night: Date

**AN: ****John takes too much time to answer texts.**  


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_**7.36 pm**_

_**'Not going home tonight. JW'**_

_**7.37 pm**_

_**'What do you mean you're not coming home tonight?. SH'**_

_**7.40 pm**_

_**'I meant what I wrote. I'm not going to sleep at home tonight. JW'**_

_**7.41 pm**_

_**'Why?. SH'**_

_**7.45 pm**_

_**'I'm on the middle of something. JW'**_

_**7.46 pm**_

_**'Oh, you're going to have intercourse with that Flower woman?. SH'**_

_**7.52 pm**_

_**'Don't ask me that like if you were asking me about the weather and her name is Florence. JW'**_

_**7.53 pm**_

_**'You take too much time to answer my texts. SH'**_

_**8.01 pm**_

_**'Because I don't want her to see me sending texts my flatmate who's asking me if I'm going to shag her tonight. There's some risotto on the fridge. JW'**_

_**8.02 pm**_

_**'Don't know how to use the microwave. SH'**_

_**8.11 pm**_

_**'And that was the stupidest lie ever. You did heat an ear yesterday. JW'**_

_**8.12 pm**_

_**'When you're done will you come?. SH'**_

_**8.17 pm**_

_**'Don't say it like- Never mind. I'll try. SH'**_

_**8.18 pm**_

_**'Come at once if convenient. SH'**_

_**8.19 pm**_

_**'If convenient, come. SH'**_

_**8.20 pm**_

_**'If inconvenient come anyway. SH'**_

_**8.21 pm**_

_**'It could be dangerous. SH'**_

_**8.23 pm**_

_**'Come home, John. SH'**_

_**8.25 pm**_

_**'Will you come?. SH'**_

_**8.32 pm**_

_**'Stop it, Sherlock! Eat that risotto. JW'**_

_**8.33 pm**_

_**'Come home as soon as your needs are filled. SH'**_

_**11.03 pm**_

_**'Are you done? Come home. SH'**_

_**11.10 pm**_

_**'John. SH'**_

_**11.26 pm**_

_**'John. SH'**_

_**11.43 pm**_

_**'John. SH'**_

_**11.48 pm **_

_**'John. SH'**_

_**11.52 pm **_

_**'I'm on my way, Sherlock. You and I will have a serious talk once I get home. JW'**_

John was furious. Angry. Frustrated. This writer doesn't have enough adjectives to describe how mad John Watson was with his friend Sherlock Holmes. His date and potential serious girlfriend read one of Sherlock's text once he went to the loo and finally the doctor's night was completely ruined.

"Sherlock, I can't tell you how mad Florence was when she read all your texts! She thought I was only using her to get a good shag-"

"I thought you were"

"I liked her. She was- she is a very good woman, Sherlock. And everything was going perfectly until your texts ruined it all!"

The detective didn't say anything and in silence, both men made their way to the young man's room and then under his dark, soft and warm duvet.

"I'm sorry, John"

"It's OK- No, you know what? It's not OK, Sherlock. What you did tonight it's not a bit not good. It's a lot not good. Anyway, I'm too tired now so I'm going to sleep. Shall I? We'll talk about this in the morning, shall we?"

Holmes nodded, even when John was already lying over his right shoulder and not looking at him.  
And he felt relieved he didn't ask him-

Too late, Holmes.

"Why did you need me here? If there's some point asking"

And like if it was the most easy question of the world, Sherlock answered with the truth.

"Time to sleep. It was time to sleep"

The dark haired man could hear his friend loud and tired sigh and then some quite swearing.

"Sherlock, I'm going to sleep. I can't deal with this tonight"

"Good night, John"

"It's equally not good to wish me a good night either, Sherlock"

The following morning Sherlock managed to to keep John busy with some cases he wanted him to include on his blog and soon, the doctor forgot everything about his ruined date with Florence and all those texts Sherlock had sent him had mysteriously been deleted from his phone.


	10. 9th Night: Awkward

The ninth night happened what John had cataloged as the most awkward night of his life.

That night, both friends were already lying on their backs over Sherlock's bed, wrapped under the detective's dark, soft and warm duvet and talking about Sherlock's latest case.

"And Anderson appeared on the crime scene when I was examining the bodies and I could smell Sally's cheap and horrendous perfume on him. As always, I pointed that out and- OUCH!"

"What is it?"

"Something is itching me!"

"Where? What is it?"

"It's on my ankles! I don't know what it is!"

And when John tried to sit and rest his back on the headboard and turn on the lights so Sherlock could see what was itching him, his blue eyes met a tall man who was strangely carrying a large umbrella despite it wasn't raining. That man had green eyes and a very strange and funny nose.

"Mycroft!"

"The very same and the only one. What are you doing with my little brother, John?"

John turned his head to see Sherlock was already under the duvet trying to see what was itching his ankles and then he realized what it looked like and what was Mycroft talking about.

He was on Sherlock's bed.

And Sherlock had his head under the duvet.

Both were on the same bed.

The situation was so awkward.

"I, Sherlock...- Anyway, what are you doing here at this hour of the night?"

"I was simply passing by. Wanted to talk with my brother. But it looks like he is... rather busy at the moment"

The man, the very same who occupied a 'minor position' on the British Government answered coolly but smiling at the blushed doctor who was still praying under his breath to be vanished off the face of the earth.

"John is sleeping here until he can get himself a duvet-"

Sherlock finally emerged from under the duvet and Mycroft smiled at him openly, showing with pride his dentist's good work.

"And what could have happened to John's beloved blue duvet-"

"How do you- Why do I bother? you are the Holmes brothers. I'll appreciate if you move your conversation and childish dispute to the kitchen, please. Some of us has a very early shift to cover tomorrow"

Sherlock and Mycroft shared a look and the former pushed the latter to the kitchen, leaving John alone who could easily fall asleep thank you very much.

"What do you want, Mycroft?"

"I came here to confirm you the presence of that famous footballer here, on John's birthday"

"And it doesn't surprise me the fact you have contacts with the sports world"

The older Holmes, who was eyeing the experiments over the table laughed quietly.

"Ha. Don't need to thank me, little brother. But let me remind you that John isn't as incredulous as you may think he is"

Sherlock frowned and moved a step closer to his brother.

"What do you mean?"

"John Watson is far from stupid. I think we have discussed it the same day he moved in with you"

"Don't put your horrible nose where it doesn't belong to, Mycroft"

"And you, dear brother, should go back to bed. It's cold and I don't want you to catch a cold do I?"

When Sherlock returned to bed, John was already sleeping and judging by his quiet snoring and the slow movements of his eyelids, he was on a deep state of REM. Somehow, Mycroft's words didn't let him sleep for long minutes that night.


	11. 10th Night: Tango

**AN: A reviewer asked me for John's duvet. And it looks like this one: www . toysrus . co . uk /medias/sys_?mime=image/jpeg REMOVE THE SPACES!**

**Yay! Sherlock came to my town and he learnt tango! haha.**

* * *

"Again?"

"I told you I was going to beat you at chess. No one can beat me"

"Yeah, I should have imagined it. But it was a hard match"

The tenth night, Sherlock took the chess board to bed and both friends were sitting indian style playing until it was time to sleep.

"It wasn't hard, it was easier than dance tango"

"Because you can dance tango, yep"

Sherlock raised his head and met John's giggles, taking for granted his dance skills.

"I can dance tango, John"

"Really? When did you learn? Sorry, but I didn't know you liked, that you can dance. Well...- you know what I mean"

The detective placed the chess pieces again in their respective places and the doctor mimicked him, getting ready to play again.

"My father was the British Ambassador in Buenos Aires before he occupied Mycroft's current position on the British Government. We went to visit him once and we learnt"

"We?"

"Mycroft and I"

"Oh. I always wanted to learn how to dance, but I prefer to watch couples dancing that myself trying-"

"I can teach you if you wish"

The doctor looked at the board, and the detective had already beaten him again.

"As I said, I rather watch people dancing but thanks for the offer, though. I'd like to see you dancing tango"

"Not likely to happen, John. We should-" He yawned and stretched his arms. "-go to sleep. I'm sure Lestrade will call me first hour in the morning"

"I'll have to text Mycroft. I'm sure there are some videos"

"What?"

"Nothing. Good night, Sherlock"

"Good night, John"

The following morning, John received a text from Mycroft with several links to a private youtube account he had. Apparently, Sherlock Holmes was a good tango dancer after all.


	12. 11th Night: Drunk

"No John. Roll over. Your shoulder will hurt you tomorrow"

"Nou. I wanna see ya face when ya sleep"

"John, it's 'no', 'want' and 'you' not 'wanna' or 'ya'-"

"Who cares"

"I do care, now roll over and sleep. You'll thank me tomorrow"

That night, John arrived feeling himself a bit tipsy. But Sherlock told him he was highly drunk. And then both friends argued until the thin but strong detective carried him to his bed and somehow managed to get him into bed and cover his cold body with his dark, soft and warm duvet. The doctor, happily acting under powers of alcohol started to calculate Sherlock's dark curls. And the detective tried his best to keep his friend's hands from his hair. He didn't want to handcuff him, certainly it was going to keep John quiet and calm for a bit, but it also meant it was going to hurt John's shoulders like hell the following morning.

"Stop it, John!"

"But your hair is so soft!"

John wasn't going to stop any time soon, so he let him. Sooner or later he was going to fall asleep.

Or that's what he thought, because John didn't close his eyes until three in the morning.

_**The following morning...**_

"Wake up John"

Nothing.

"John"

Nothing.

"John!"

Nothing.

"John, the Afghans are invading Baker Street!" Nothing.

He threw some water over John's face and the poor man jumped on his place of the bed, hitting Sherlock once their foreheads crashed together.

"Jawn!"

"What? What happened? What did you do to me?"

"Me? I didn't do anything to you! You came here late yesterday night under the powers of alcohol. You met your friends from the Army and went to the local pub close to surgery. You had from what I can calculate five to seven pints of beer and you ate several of those peanuts I told you not to eat! they have several germs and-"

The blonde pushed Sherlock and ran to his bathroom, which was closer thank you very much. A long and relieved sigh could be heard along with John's audible wee. The detective followed his friend to the loo, and maybe because he had a strong hangover John didn't care his friend's presence behind his back.

"Correction, nine to eleven pints of beer"


	13. 12th Night: Hey Jude!

**AN: I love this chapter.**

* * *

"Na na na na na na na na na na na, Hey Jude!"

Both men were reading a book each when John started to sing one of those songs Sherlock assured him he never knew about or if he had, he deleted it a long time ago.

"I can't believe you don't know who The Beatles are! They are as British as tea!"

"Agh! Can we avoid this part in which you say 'this is pop culture, how can't you no know this'"

"But this isn't primary school stuff, Sherlock. It's The Beatles!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed his book, getting ready to wrap himself with his dark, soft and warm duvet and finish the Beatles conversation. John did the same and then both men were just lying on their back over the bed, looking at their white ceiling.

John started to sing that song again and finally, Sherlock asked.

"Why that song, John?"

"Well, I like the lyrics. Paul McCartney composed the song for John Lennon's son. John was divorcing his first wife after his affair with Yoko Ono. He tried to make Julian feel better-"

"Who's Julian?"

"Lennon's son. Anyway, he said he composed the song while he was driving to see him. It's a beautiful song if you listen carefully"

"Mmm. I'll listen at it tomorrow. I'm sure judging by your tone of voice, you are fond of that band. I won't be wrong if I say you have their discs. Am I right? Of course I'm right"

John rolled his eyes and nodded. He had several discs on his room. And he couldn't wait to introduce Sherlock some good songs he knew he will like.

"Na na na na na na na na na na na, Hey Sherlock!"

"Good night, John"


	14. 13th Night: Molly and Lestrade

**AN: I really like this one. I feel like I'm opening a little window for what can/might happen at the end of this... Anyway, thanks for the lovely feedback, but I saw lots of your around the world read this, so don't doubt leaving me a review in your language if you don't speak English. As many of you know, I'm not an English speaker, my fist language is Spanish... I can read and speak a bit of Italian and Portuguese and read very little of French. But I'd love to reply reviews in such different languages! Can you do that for me, pretty please? Haha.**

* * *

"No, Sherlock. You can't be serious. This is by far the most incoherent thing you have ever said to me"

The detective rolled his eyes and pouted. John looked at him and even in the darkness of the room he could still look into his friend eyes. He certainly couldn't stop giggling. At this point, both men were sure they must have woken Mrs Hudson.

"It's not incoherent, John. I know it. I've seen it. I'm not making this out. I'm being serious!"

"Yeah, I know"

"Don't say _'Yeah, I know' _because you don't believe me. And the probabilities were low, I said it myself. But he divorced his wife!"

John stop laughing and giggling and took a deep breath before letting his friend continue with his story.

"OK. Let's start this again"

Sherlock nodded and carried on revising all the events of the previous afternoon, when in a visit to the Scotland Yard, Lestrade told him the news.

"Well, I met Lestrade this afternoon. Stupid and domestic case. A man in his middle forties found dead in his own house by his wife. The clues were there, John. Even you and your level of stupidity-"

"Sherlock!"

"I meant that you with you low level of stupidity could have solved it, let me finish will you. Then when I solved the case he told me. His wife was cheating on him with a PE teacher. He's divorcing her now and he's dating Molly!"

John turned to face his friend and frowned.

"You didn't mention Molly"

"Do keep up, John. Molly and Lestrade are dating"

The doctor wrapped himself more and more under the black, soft and warm duvet property of Sherlock Holmes and continued looking at him waiting for a further explanation.

"What's wrong with Molly and Lestrade?"

"Don't you see it?"

"Why? She's single and she's a lovely woman you have been using to get what you wanted from Bart's even when you knew she could have lost her job. And Lestrade deserves a second chance-"

Holmes grabbed more of his own duvet and sighed. He turned to his left side and showed his back to the doctor.

"You are jealous, aren't you?"

"I'm not jealous"

"Yes you are"

"No I am not!"

"So why are you acting this way? You don't fancy Molly, so let her be. Or are you jealous of Lestrade?"

"I'm not jealous, John. Not of Molly nor Lestrade. But... the possibilities of them and a long relationship are high. Molly is a woman in his early thirties, whose biological clock is hurrying her. Lestrade is a man in in middle forties, desperate for kids and to live a peaceful and happy life. He expects a woman when he returns home, baking him cakes and raising his children. She expects to get married to finish the comments towards her as a spinster. She wants to have babies, to bake cakes for his husband and why not, another cat!"

John was processing Sherlock's words, when the detective explained himself.

"I'm not jealous John. I'm was simply observing the fact that the possibilities are high. Remember this night, John. They will be getting married in less than a year. And she will ask us to be their children's uncles"

"So, you're not jealous?"

The detective tossed to face his friend and shook his head.

"No"

"Don't you want that life, Sherlock? A home, a wife or a husband, whatever shakes your boat, kids-"

"I'm married to my work. And this" Sherlock gestured the room "This is my home. But the one who wants that kind of life is you"

John smiled a bit and nodded.

"I'd love to. But the _one_ hasn't appeared, yet"

"Oh, she will appear soon. And I bet she will have a boring and mundane name such Jane, Anne... or _Mary_"

"Ha, yes. Good night, Sherlock"

"Good night, John"


	15. 14th Night: Mycroft

**AN: I love Mark Gatiss. And thank you to my reviewers who took their time to leave me a review in a different language, keep them coming!  
**

* * *

"You should tell Mycroft, though"

Sherlock made his way under the duvet and rested his head over his soft pillow. Before he could say something, John was already giving him what the detective liked to call 'a lecture about family'.

"He's your brother and he cares about you, Sherlock. You should be a little more considerate towards him. He wants the best for you-"

"How, bugging our flat? Bugging my underwear? The last thing I expected from him was find his microphones on my underwear, John!"

John covered his face with his hands in order to prevent a laugh. He found it funny, when Sherlock showed him the little and undetectable microphone on his friend's underwear drawer and one on his new boxers. Certainly Mycroft wanted to be updated by first hand what Sherlock was up to. But he had to admit the older Holmes was desperate to know about his little sibling.

"He's being extreme, I know. But he still cares. Why do you have this... childish dispute every time he's around?"

The doctor didn't know with certainty if he could ask. Mycroft was a sensitive topic to talk about with Sherlock. So sensitive, that even after a long time sharing a flat, John didn't know too much about the older Holmes more than a few things his friend has told him such as his problems with food, his true relationship with the British Government and nothing more. So he wasn't holding too much hopes to hear the whole story, but Sherlock surprised him that night.

"Everything started when we were kids. For some psychological reasons brothers develop a natural rivalry, and we weren't the exception. Mycroft was the perfection to our father while mother preferred me. And sons are always their mother's weak point. And I was her weak point. Mycroft was jealous of me, for occupy that place on mother's priorities and it got worst when he left home for university"

John was listening at his friend carefully, trying to keep up with Sherlock's story and trying to memorize every word because not every night you hear the completely story of a childish dispute that far from die with time, lives till now.

"He wasn't popular, but he was well respected for his intellect and our name of course, while I had home schooling because of my lack of social skills, mother spoiled me a lot. Let's say that we had our first strong fight when I seduced a bloke he had a crush on-"

"Wait! You seduced a bloke Mycroft fancied? Why, just to piss him off or...? Mycroft is gay?"

And Sherlock continued talking like if it were the most common thing to talk about.

"I have deleted his name and his existence. The proper word isn't _seducing_, though. I just met him when Mycroft brought him home once to study and he liked me and he told this to Mycroft. I never intended to piss him off, but he was because he punched me in the face. That's why the first case we solved together, if you remember, I told him I wasn't the one who upsets our mother"

John nodded, remembering that night.

"I never knew Mycroft was gay-"

"He's married to Ian Hallard, I never met him"

"The actor Ian Hallard? And how is that you haven't met your brother-in-law?"

"I don't concern myself with trivia, John. And we should sleep now. You don't work tomorrow but I'm sure Lestrade will be calling to beg for our help"

"You mean _your_ help"

"You do count, John. Good night"

"Good night, Sherlock"


	16. 15th Night: Love

**AN: Some reviewers asked me about the conversation they shared in chapter 6 ("Let's talk about sex") In which Sherlock asks John what sex feels like. Well, I decided that this time Sherlock wants to know what love is. Hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Their fifteenth night sharing the same dark, soft and warm duvet property of Sherlock Holmes both friends found themselves unable to sleep. Something that was so common for the detective, was so strange and annoying for the doctor.

And Sherlock wasn't helping at all.

"No, Sherlock. Not this again"

"Why? I'm... curious"

"Well, if you are curious, why don't you go to Google and search?"

"John, you know that searches on internet aren't always as reliable nor accurate as a doctor. You are a doctor, therefore, you must be more trustful than the internet. Therefore, you must explain this to me"

Watson rolled his eyes and tossed to face his friend. It was already late and both couldn't sleep. And it was going to be hard to change Sherlock's mind.

"OK. Let's do this again. What exactly do you want to know?"

And Holmes sighed tired, knowing that deep in John's mind, he wanted to hear him ask that question again.

"How does it feels to be, as you say, _in love_?"

"Well, I'm a doctor, yes. But I don't see why you ask me this. My profession doesn't have anything to do with-"

"There are some chemical and physical signs, John!"

"There aren't such signs!"

"Yes, there are! It's been proven, John. Dilated pupils, high blood pressure, you must know that!"

John sighed and finally asked the question.

"Why are you asking me this, Sherlock? Are you in love with someone?"

"Do keep up, John. No. I'm not"

"So, why do you ask? Is this for a case?"

"No"

"You are not answering my question, you know"

After a few seconds, in which the detective seemed to be thinking about a proper and good answer, he finally spoke.

"Curiosity. I told you when we started this that I was curious"

John blinked once, twice and a very deep in his heart, he felt bad for his friend. They had been sharing the flat for so long, and they had also shared so many adventures and good and bad moments that he never stopped to ask what was inside his friend's mind nor heart. It never crossed his mind if his friend was sad, or he felt melancholic or alone.

So he left his right arm rest under his friend's head, letting him rest his head over his shoulder.

"Have you been in love, Sherlock?"

"No"

"Do you want to know what it is, what loves feels like? Do you want to be in love with someone?"

"Yes, yes and no"

John sighed quiet.

"OK. Let's say that being in love makes you do, act and even think things in a different way. When you are in love, the other person is the only one who rules your world. You don't care about anyone but that person and that person is the only one who makes your days brighter and happier. It feels nice, even more if he or she reciprocates your feelings. I know you consider that sentiment is always on the losing side, but... why don't you think about your parents? I'm sure they must have loved each other when they conceived you"

For a moment, John didn't hear anything from his friend and when he turned his head to see the other man lying over his shoulder, Sherlock was already sleeping and even snoring. He looked peaceful and his dark curls were covering most of his forehead.

Trying his best to not wake the detective, John tossed to his side and fall asleep immediately.

Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled a bit. He was convinced he would never understand what his friend was talking about.

* * *

**Who wants to cuddle Sherlock? xx**


	17. 16th Night: Cold feet

**AN: If I were John in this chapter I'd kill Sherlock. But Sherlock is Sherlock, so I might let him.**

* * *

That particular night, Sherlock had very cold feet. And John, poor good and sensible John. He swore a lot.

"God dammit, Sherlock! Your feet are cold!"

"Yes, I know John. That's why I'm resting my feet over yours"

"You want to kill me, right? It's bloody freezing tonight and your feet are bloody cold, dammit!"

Sherlock ignored his friend's comments and continued chasing John's feet under his dark, soft and warm duvet. He was right, it was a cold night but his feet were cold and he just wanted to be warm.

"Stop it!"

"If you stop moving your feet, I'll stop chasing them!"

John removed the duvet, property of Sherlock Holmes and ran to his room upstairs. For a moment the detective feared about it. John could be angry so he was going to sleep alone. But his thoughts disappeared when the doctor returned with a pair of socks and the orange blanket.

"Here, put these on"

"No, John. I'm not going-"

"They are clean. Put these on!"

"No! I don't sleep wearing socks"

"That's why your feet are cold! If you are not going to wear them, use this!"

John handed him the orange blanket and Sherlock looked at his puzzled. The doctor gave him a look and the detective shrugged. Exasperated, John removed all the duvet from Sherlock's body and covered his feet with the police orange blanket. Then, he covered their bodies with the dark duvet.

"Now, your feet won't be cold. Shall I sleep now? Yes? Thank you, good night!"

After a few minutes, John felt a finger hitting his right shoulder. And without tossing and turning to the other side he replied to his friend.

"What, Sherlock?"

"I apologise"

John laughed a bit.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just... if you had been one of my girlfriends, I'd have cuddled you until your feet were warm. But thank god you are not-"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind, nighty night, Sher"

"I'm not a kid, John!"

The following morning, John woke up with a pair of feet covered with the orange blanket beside his head. Again. Our favourite detective was snoring loudly that morning, besides John's ankles. Again.


	18. 17th Night: Cold Turkey

**AN: Wow, I mean... just a few chapters left! As I update this every day, you can expect this to be finished within the next week... stay tuned!**

* * *

The seventeenth night, they didn't need a duvet. Because it was a hot and warm night, they didn't need a duvet. But yet, John slept beside Sherlock that night. Why?

Because Sherlock had a 'crisis'. After months and months without smoking, that night, Sherlock Holmes had a crisis. And as a good friend, John stood by his side and even slept with him just to be sure the detective wasn't going to left the bed to search for the cigarettes hidden somewhere in 221B.

And as John was a soldier, he had a very light sleep. At least when he needed it. So that night, when Sherlock tried to make a single move to get off the bed, John already had one eye open.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"John, I need some. Get me some"

"No"

"Get me some"

"No. Cold turkey, we agreed. Now, go to sleep"

Minutes later...

"John, I envy you so much..."

"You... you envy me?"

"Your mind. So placid, straightforward, barely used. I need a cigarette!"

"You told me you wanted to leave it! Now close your eyes and get some sleep! We're going to wake Mrs Hudson-"

"I can't sleep!"

John sighed and sit on his place on the bed, letting his tired back rest on the headboard.

"Is this, or Cluedo"

"No, we are not playing that again"

"Why?"

"Because the victims couldn't have done it, Sherlock. It's not on the rules!"

"So all the rules are wrong!"

"You know what, Sherlock? It's warm, it's a very good night. I could be sleeping on my bed tonight. And do you know why I'm still here? Even when we are not sharing a duvet?"

Sherlock shrugged and pouted. Tossing and turning to his side, he pretended to be deaf, not paying John any attention.

"I want to help you, Sherlock. I'm a doctor and I know what cigarettes do to people's lungs. But I'm your friend too, and I want you to be fine"

"Thank you, John" Replied the detective without looking at his friend. And John smiled, because he knew he was like this. He wasn't expecting Sherlock on his knees, begging for his help, but he also knew he was being honest.

"It's OK, Sherlock. Besides, you have a very comfy mattress, you know"

"And you like it"

"I do. Nighty night, Sherlock"

"Nighty night, John"


	19. 18th Night: Wait

The eighteenth night was cold and that same night, John looked at new duvets online. He was getting paid in three more days and with that money he was going to be able to get himself a new duvet and finally sleep in his own bed.

"I like this one. I can even order it now and they will deliver it in four days. Perfect, Sarah will pay me in three days, so..."

Sherlock had half of his face under his dark, warm and soft duvet. His expression was priceless though. Even when no one could see him.

In three nights lots of things will have place on 221B:

- John's birthday.

- The footballer was going to be there to give John his shirt signed by the whole team and even the manager as Mycroft assured him.

- Sherlock was going to say the truth.

Because Sherlock did something to John's beloved blue duvet. Of course he had. He needed it for an experiment and he used it without thinking about the consequences nor his friend's feelings.

And that fact was taking Sherlock enough minutes per night. As his mother warned him when he was a kid, bad actions won't let him sleep. And what he did to John's duvet didn't let him sleep.

"Sherlock! Hey, are you OK?"

"What-? Yes"

"I was asking you what do you think about this one?"

John showed his friend the picture of a very pretty and good blue duvet. It looked just like the one he used for his experiment. Like John's old blue duvet.

"It's... good"

"I'm going to buy it and order it now-"

"John, maybe you should wait"

"Why? Are you getting me one for my birthday? You don't need to-"

"No, John. Just... wait"

The doctor frowned and closed his laptop and turned the lights off, ready to sleep.

"You look pale, Sherlock. You sure you're OK?"

"I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow"

"Mmm, good night, Sherlock"

The following morning, Sherlock booked two train tickets to Manchester. They were going to Manchester for John's birthday.


	20. 19th Night: Dream

**AN: **_Italics_** are for John's dream.**

* * *

It was Thursday and that night, the nineteenth night, John slept alone.

Because Sherlock was on a case.

And somehow, John decided to stay on bed, just to regret his decision later, when he was lying on Sherlock's comfy mattress, and under that dark, warm and soft duvet.

John tried his best. He read a novel, then a medical journal and finally he found himself reading the gas bill.

And it was very late when he finally conceived some sleep.

_"I heard you are going to Iraq"_

_"Afghanistan, grandpa. I'm going to Afghanistan"_

_John was sitting in front of his grandpa, it was the day before he finally left England. All the previous days he visited some mates from Uni and from childhood to say see-you-later, because he didn't want to say good-bye. He was going to be back, he knew it for sure._

_So the day before leaving, he visited most of his family._

_And his grandpa on his mother's side was the last one. He was a very old man, and the Alzheimer had erased most of his memories, but John was the only of his two grandchildren he could remember by heart._

_"I want you to keep this. I bought it for your mother, thinking she was going to be a boy. But she turned out to be a girl after all"_

_John took it and smiled to him._

_"Thanks, grandpa. But I can't take it-"_

_"Keep it, John. I used to cover you with this blue duvet when your mother brought you here and you were a baby. It's old, but it's warm and I also heard that those places you're going are cold at night"_

_John nodded and cleaned a little tear falling down his cheek._

_The following morning he left England with the blue duvet inside his luggage. It protected him in the cold Afghan nights and even when he was back in London-_

"John? John, are you OK?"

"What- yeah, Sherlock. I'm fine"

"You were crying, John"

"Yeah, how was the case?"

The doctor rubbed his blue eyes with the back of his palm and looked at his watch. It was five in the morning.

"Good. I needed to go to Bart's to make some experiments and to examine some evidence. I'd say it was a good case. Why were you crying? Nightmare?"

John hesitated a bit before answer. He wasn't ashamed of nightmares, not after living with Sherlock for so long.

"I had a dream, a memory"

"It wasn't pleasant, wasn't it. You were crying so it indicates-"

"It was. I dreamt with my granddad, when I saw him for the last time, before I left to Afghanistan. He gave me that blue duvet, you know. He said it was going to protect me and it certainly did. He died months before I came back. I just miss him"

At his point, Sherlock wanted to disappear or most likely, go back in time to the day he decided to conduce that experiment on John's beloved duvet.

He felt guilty.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Nothing. You should go back to sleep"

"You too"

"Mmm. Good night, John"

"Nighty, Sherlock"


	21. 20th Night: Yarn balls

**AN: We're close to the end!  
**

* * *

"I got paid today"

Both friends were over Sherlock's bed, under that dark, warm and soft duvet. While John was writing on his agenda and organizing some of the bills he was going to pay off, Sherlock was reading some old papers in order to find a case to keep his mind working.

"Oh"

"Yeah, but it takes time for the new bank system so my wage will be accredited on Monday. I'll buy a new duvet on Monday afternoon, sorry mate. You'll be having me here till Monday"

The detective shrugged, tossing all the papers he was reading to the floor.

"No problem, John. This is your free weekend, isn't it?"

"It is indeed. And I'm planning to stay here, be lazy, drink some beer and watch crap telly. You?"

Inside Sherlock was taking place a huge debate. He didn't know for sure if he should tell John about the train tickets he had booked for them. But John was planning to stay in Baker Street the whole weekend...

"Don't know yet. But I'm sure Mrs Hudson will be needing someone to help her with her yarn balls"

John giggled. And then both friends were giggling uncontrollably.

"She will. And she can even teach you how to knit"

"That's not funny, John"

"Whatever. I'm going to sleep. G'night, Holmes"

"Good night, Watson"

"Dr. Watson"

"Good night, John"


	22. 21th Night: The Last Night

"Mrs H's spaghetti was so tasty. My stomach is hurting me now"

"Mmm"

"You've been acting a bit weird, Sherlock. Even for you"

"I'm fine. Oh, I forgot to tell you, we are going to Manchester tomorrow"

John looked at his friend, but didn't say anything. He had lost any ability of being surprised when it was about Sherlock Holmes. Because with him everything was possible.

"May I ask why? I was hoping-"

"Well, I talked to your friends from the Army and they cancelled their booked tables at that horrible pub you like"

"How, they organised- Never mind. It's a case?"

"No"

"Will you tell me?"

"No"

"Are we leaving at...?"

"Noon. You'll need to pack some clothes if you wish, not many, though"

"So... you're not going to tell me anything?"

"No"

"Well, so this may be our last night sleeping together because if we are going to stay in Manchester till Monday, we better look for an hotel with separate rooms you know, or at least two beds"

"Mmm"

John turned to his place. There was an awkward silence because he felt like he was meant to say something. The detective had offered him his duvet, well... they shared the duvet. And that was something Sherlock Holmes doesn't do every day.

"Thank you, Sherlock"

"What for?"

"For letting me sleep here with you"

"I thought that was what friends do, as you always say"

The doctor smiled.

"That's right, because we are friends, aren't we? Good night, Sher"

"Good Night, John"

John turned to his side of the bed and looked at his watch. It was almost midnight, almost his birthday. He closed his eyes, trying to conceive some sleep.

Tomorrow it was going to be a long day.

* * *

**AN: Yes, I feel like Sherlock should have said something about their last night sleeping together. But you know, Sherlock is _Sherlock_ so... yep. **


	23. Final Chapter PART I

**"The Case Of the Blue Duvet" **

**FINAL CHAPTER PART I**

When Sherlock woke up, on that warm Sunday, on John's birthday, his grey eyes met his watch. It was almost nine in the morning. The other side of his bed was empty and cold. He could also sense John's tea on the air and the telly on.

The footballer, whose name the detective had deleted long time ago, was going to arrive soon, so he wanted his friend to be prepared.

He changed his clothes and when he went to their sitting room, he saw him. John was on his knees over the floor, looking for something near the fireplace. And Sherlock's heart started to beat a bit more stronger than usual. Because on the fireplace, he had burn John's duvet. And he forgot to clean and remove the ashes...

"Hey, good morning, Sherlock. I made you some tea and bacon. Mycroft called me! I know you won't believe it but... Hey, are you OK?"

Sherlock was speechless. All he wanted to do was tell John not be close to the fireplace, not to look at it and stay away from it. He couldn't bear to see John finding out about his experiment, looking at the ashes of what it was, his blue and beloved duvet.

"I'm... John, I need to tell you something"

John frowned but kept his position on the floor, near the fireplace.

"I was looking for the cigarettes I threw here and-"

The doctor felt a piece of soft fabric inside the fireplace. And under his touch, he knew that kind of soft fabric. But before he could take it and see what it was, Mrs Hudson walked in, and behind her was the famous footballer.

"Hoo-hoo! Boys, you didn't hear your bell? This charming man says he needs to see you, John. Well, that's what I think since he only says your name and it looks like he can't speak any English- John? Sherlock? What is it?"

The detective sighed relieved and then, he could see John's expression. His blue eyes were shinning, certainly he couldn't believe it. Apparently, that footballer was the new 'Hero' since he scored the goal the team needed to win the League. And he was John's favourite football player.

"Are you-? Of course it's you. What are you doing here?"

The brunette man, dressed from head to toes with the blue kit smiled at him and both shook their hands. He handed him the famous blue shirt with the number sixteen. It was signed by all the team and even the manager, and it was also framed.

"Happy birthday, John"

Sergio Aguero, the Argentine footballer (And member of the Manchester City team) said with his characteristic Spanish accent. The landlady ran downstairs to get her camera and picture the moment.

"Thank you. Please, sit down. Do you want tea? Water? Coffee?"

The man tried to say something and it was obvious he wasn't fluent in English.

"John, he could barely say happy birthday. He doesn't understand a word"

"You were behind this, weren't you"

"After a short research I found out this man was your favourite footballer. Mycroft moved some strings for me"

"Thank you, Sherlock. This is the best present you could have get me"

Both friends shared a hug, more John than Sherlock, who only patted his friend back because let's face it, Sherlock wasn't used to have physical contact. Eventually, Mrs Hudson took all the pictures she considered were necessary and finally the footballer gave John a ball. It was a bit strange for Sherlock to see how his friend and flat mate was interacting with the famous footballer even when John could barely articulate a word in Spanish and so the other man in English. But after a good hour 'talking' about the team and other things, the Argentine man had the bright idea of kicking the ball, making it roll inside the fireplace.

He apologised with his poor English, but when John went down to his knees to take it, Sherlock almost jump on his place when John's eye met the burned blue fabric of his duvet.

And Sherlock spoke.

"John, listen to me-"

"You burnt my duvet..."

John's face was red. Both of his hands were closed into fists and his knuckles were white. Sherlock could see all the signs, high blood pressure, different breathe pattern, chest rising, dilated pupils...

He didn't get himself punched by his friend (at that moment), because somehow, the doctor contained himself because they were in the presence of the famous footballer and their landlady.

Silence. There was only silence. John looked like a bull and Sherlock was the red fabric in front of him. Mrs Hudson covered his mouth with his hand, the footballer looked at them puzzled but he felt the atmosphere in that room. For the first time, the detective feared for his own life. And then...

Sherlock got the punch of his life.

When he woke up, he was lying over the sofa. John was examining what looked like his bruised eye.

"I'm sorry"

"Why, Sherlock?"

"I needed a piece of soft fabric to burn. In one of my latest cases the victim said her attacker tried to wrap her with his duvet, and then burn her there. That obviously was going to cause several and more damageable wounds on her. I needed to use something... And I used your duvet. I tried to fix it, but I couldn't. So I burnt it and hide the ashes on the fireplace. I'm so sorry, John"

He looked to his left side and saw the footballer sitting in his armchair, looking puzzled at them. He obviously didn't understand a word in English and judging by the look on his face, Mycroft had threatened him and his position on the football team.

"Look, Sherlock. I'm not going to lie to you, as you did. I'm angry. Of course I'm angry, I'm more than angry with you. You could have asked me, but you know what? I'm not going to say that I could have lent you my duvet. Because you know. This duvet was given to me by my grandfather before I left to Afghanistan. I kept him all those years I have been on service, and it protected me. And it was a memory I have from my grandfather, who is now dead. I don't really know if I'll be able to forgive you, because that duvet, as simply as it looks, had too many good memories to me, Sherlock"

"I know, John. I didn't think about my actions, I'm sorry"

"I go" Interrupted the footballer. John tried to smile at him and show his gratitude. And somehow, John managed to explain everything to the man, and he left. A black car was parked outside already waiting for the man to drive him back to Manchester. Sherlock saw John saying good bye to him and then making his way back inside the building.

"John-"

"Listen to me, Sherlock. I don't really know what to do right now. I don't even know what to think about this-"

The detective looked at his watch. It was eleven in the morning and their train was going to leave soon.

"John, we need to go"

"What are you talking about?"

"Manchester. Our train leaves in less than an hour-"

"I'm not going, Sherlock. This is the worst birthday I have ever had and you-"

"You don't understand, John! We need to go now!-"

"The one who doesn't understand a damn word is you! I won't go with you!"

Sherlock looked at the fireplace and removed all the ashes and opened a little drawer, which was hidden behind all the rubbish and ashes. He took John's blue duvet from inside the secret place and showed it to his friend.

"I saved most of it. I've just lost a feet of it and I found someone who can fix this. We need to go now"

John looked at him puzzled. And an hour later, both friends were sitting in a train, on their way to Manchester.

* * *

**Hey! the second part will be up tomorrow! And remember: reviews, as hugs, are always welcome!**


	24. Final Chapter PART II

**"The Case Of the Blue Duvet"**

**FINAL CHAPTER PART II.**

When they finally arrived at Manchester, Sherlock ran to a police officer and asked for some directions and later, both friends were ina cab sharing the same silence they had been sharing during the train journey.

"Are you going to tell me where are we going?"

"I started to investigate as soon as I... burned your duvet. But after that night, when you told me about your grandfather and the origin of this duvet, I searched for his history. He bought it in a shop the day after he found out he was going to have his own family. Since ultrasound didn't exist, he trusted it was going to be a boy but it turned out they were expecting a girl, your mother. Other clues were useful, such as your fanaticism for the football club of this city. Everyone from your family is fond of the team, your grandparents used to live here, ergo your grandfather must have bought that duvet here in Manchester. The duvet had a tag, and I searched it on the internet. The shop exists, though the seamstress, the one who made this duvet, died. His granddaughters are now running the local shop. I talked to them, and they can fix it."

John's jaw was on the floor. During those past three weeks Sherlock has been searching through his family history just to fix the duvet mess. He even searched his grandparent's past! And he was right about everything.

Of course.

"Why you didn't tell me about this? You made me sleep with you-"

"I didn't want you to be... upset and angry with me. There weren't any ulterior motives when I offer you my bed and my duvet, John." Replied the detective looking at the window, never making eye contact with his friend.

"You saved most of it." Said John. His tone of voice was soft and sincere this time. And Sherlock turned his head to face his friend.

"Still, I ruined it. But I know someone who can fix it."

Sherlock was carrying a box with the burnt duvet when the cab stopped in front of a shop. It had two large windows, and they were perfectly and neatly decorated with all the things they were selling, from decoration things to socks and even stationary papers. It was a very strange shop, but it was cozy. And when they came inside, they were greeted by a young woman. She had brownish hair and dark eyes, and as soon as she saw Sherlock carrying the blue duvet she knew who he was, because judging by the look on her face, she seemed to know him. And John could only deduce it was due toSherlock's calls.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Afternoon. You must be Alice, the older sister owner of this shop. You're not the one who knows how to sew properly though you're trying to learn judging by your wounded thumb. I need to talk to Mary Morstan, please."

The woman looked at John and then back to Sherlock and nodded.

"She-she's out but she must be coming-"

Then someone, a woman carrying a big bunch of flowers, opened the door clumsily. Her face was hidden behind the flowers and she couldn't see her way when she walked on John, falling to the floor with all her things. Sherlock rolled his eyes while the doctor tried to help her.  
And then he saw her face.

She had blonde hair, deep blue eyes and flushed cheeks. She was wearing a flowered blue dress with matching flat shoes.

"I-I-I'm sorry-"

"I'm John Watson, are you alright?"

For John, the world seemed to have stopped. And then that woman was the only thing he could think of. That blonde woman was now on his mind, and somehow he knew she was _the one_.

"Miss Morstan, I presume? I'm Sherlock Holmes and I need you to fix this duvet."

* * *

Mary Morstan was the granddaughter of the woman who sold the blue duvet to John's grandfather when he thought he was having a boy, and finally, he had a girl. John's mother.  
Miss Morstan had a special gift for sewing. And it wasn't a problem to find a good fabric to match the original one, because she had some. And it belonged to his grandmother's old fabrics. And she finally fixed John's beloved blue duvet.

"Thank you, Miss Morstan."

"Mary. You can call me Mary."

"Thank you, Mary."

Strangely enough, Sherlock liked this young woman. He even talked to her like a normal person when she invited them to her sewing room inside the shop. But the one who didn't say more than three or four words was John.

And somehow, the two friends found themselves having dinner with the Morstan sisters. The detective told them they were spending the night in the city, and Mary, being the kind woman she was, insisted they could sleep on the spare room in the house she shared with her sister. Alice agreed, and that night, John and Sherlock were sleeping together. But in separate beds.

"Mary Watson," said Sherlock from out of the blue and John turned to face his friend, who was lying on the bed next to him. The little lamp atthe bedside table was on and he could see Sherlock's long hands under his chin. The thinking position.

"What?"

"Sounds... nice. Mary Watson."

John blinked once, twice.

"Sometimes I think I can predict the future, though I don't approve those activities."

The doctor couldn't say a word. He felt like a teenage boy again. He really liked Mary. She was honest, pretty and he was also sure she had a very kind heart. She was all John wanted in a woman.

_"Don't you want that life, Sherlock? A home, a wife or a husband, whatever shakes your boat, kids-"_  
_  
_  
_"I'm married to my work. And this," Sherlock gestured the room. "This is my home. But the one who wants that kind of life is you."_  
_  
_  
_John smiled a bit and nodded._  
_  
_  
_"I'd love to. But the one hasn't appeared, yet."_  
_  
_  
_"Oh, she will appear soon. And I bet she will have a boring and mundane name such Jane, Anne... or Mary."_  
_  
_  
John remembered that night. And Sherlock was right.

John knew it. The one had finally appeared. And Sherlock knew it too. Because he could see the signs: Mary and John's pupils were dilated and he even heard their hearts racing inside their chests!

"You should ask her for a, how do you call it, date?"

"We need to go back to London tomorrow and she has a life here, Sherlock. Things aren't that easy, you know."

Sherlock turn off the lights and smiled just for himself.

"Good night, John"

"G'night, Sherlock"

**_The following morning..._**

The good doctor woke up smelling something nice coming from downstairs. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen so John decided it was for the best to look for him and keep an eye on him. He was sure the detective could be doing or saying things to the Morstan sisters. And he was very grateful for the duvet, but he didn't want to leave apologising for his friend's behaviour.

And downstairs, he found Sherlock, Mary and Alice sitting at the kitchen table with a modest cake.

"Happy birthday, John!"

Mary was the first standing up and giving him a shy kiss on his cheek. And John couldn't help but smile. But his moment of happiness vanished when he saw Sherlock calmly chatting with Alice.

"You didn't - Did Sherlock say something?"

"Yesterday he told us it was your birthday and also about his bruised eye. So I made this cake. Sorry, I know it's not the best cake of the world but-"

"No, please, Mary. It's perfect. I think it's the best cake I have ever had for my birthday. Last year Sherlock tried to bake one, but it turned out to a rock. We couldn't even eat it!"

Mary laughed so hard. And John found himself in love with her laugh, her smile, her face.

He was in love with Mary.

Everything was fine for John, until tea and Sherlock.

"You have a talent for these things, Miss Morstan. You should move to London and take your talent with you."

"I'd love to, but I'm not that good. And I'm sure London is full of people with better skills than me for these things"

"Don't be afraid of failing, Miss Morstan. You really like this place, most of the things this shop sells are of your creation even when you didn't study high couture nor dressmaking. But this shop is quite famous in this area so you had the idea of opening your own shop in London but you're afraid-"

"Sherlock." John tried to stop him before he could make the poor woman cry, but she stopped sewing and was carefully listening at him, amazed.

"You're afraid of leaving your grandmother's shop because she taught you. Also you know she will be proud if you move to a big city and start your own business because she had that ability I don't usually approve, but she told you the love of your life, as people like to call, is in London. Not in this city and I think... she was right."

"That... Mister Holmes, was amazing!" Mary looked at him, amazed and eager to hear more about the detective and his deductive skills, something that didn't happen too often.

"Do you think so?"

"It was absolutely amazing!"

Sherlock smiled just a bit and nodded.

"I have three train tickets to London, will you join us? I have the feeling we are going to be good friends, Miss Morstan"

_**A few months later...**_  
_  
_Sherlock was filling a black bag with some clothes and his dark duvet. It had a strange hole on the left side and he wasn't going to buy a new one when he could have it repaired by one of the most famous seamstresses in London.

"Sherlock, are you going to give Mary all those clothes? Poor girl."

The detective smiled at his landlady and gave her a peck on her cheek. "But Mary loves me, Mrs Hudson. Besides, I need John to assist me on a case."

"And is she happy when you interrupt their dates and drag John to those crime scenes with you?"

"Don't be so dull, Mrs Hudson. She comes with us!"

**Fin.**

* * *

***CRIES* IT'S THE END, GUYS... I DON'T WANT TO FINISH THIS*CRIES***

**FIRST, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ALERTS, FAVS AND ALL THE KIND AND LOVELY REVIEWS. THIS IS ONE OF MY MOST ALERTED STORY SO FAR !**

**ALSO THANKS TO "CowMow" FOR BEING MY BETA IN THIS LAST CHAPTER. SHE'S A VERY LOVELY GIRL. AND YOU SHOULD KEEP AN EYE ON US... WE MAY WORK TOGETHER IN THE FUTURE...**

**AND WHO KNOWS... MAYBE I CAN UPDATE ONE MORE LAST CHAPTER... LET ME KNOW YOUR OPINIONS, NO MATTER THE LANGUAGE AND THERE MAY BE A BONUS CHAPTER IN A FEW DAYS (YES, I'M THREATENING YOU WITH A REVIEW HA! - JOKING)**

**THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT, YOU MADE ME VERY HAPPY.**

**BYE!**

**PS: IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!**

**I'M CURRENTLY WORKING ON A NEW STORY AND IT WILL BE POSTED IN A FEW DAYS. I CAN'T SAY TOO MUCH, BUT... IT'S AN AU STORY INVOLVING CRIMINAL! JOHNLOCK YAY! SO IF YOU WANT TO STAY TUNED AND IF YOU'RE INTERESTED (I HOPE SO) YOU CAN ADD ME TO YOUR AUTHOR ALERTS.**


	25. BONUS CHAPTER: JOHN'S BLOG

**THE PERSONAL BLOG OF **

**Dr. John H. Watson**

**6th June**

**"The Case of the Blue Duvet" **

Many of you, readers and followers of this modest blog, should know my position about private information and public appearances. As I say to my flat-mate, we always should keep a low profile. But certainly, after spending three weeks sleeping with Sherlock Holmes **(DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING UNTIL YOU FINISH READING THIS BLOG ENTRY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH)** I think this particular situation, 'case' fits perfectly, deserves to be told.

A month ago I came back late from work, I'd been working for more than ten hours that day, the cashier at Tesco didn't accept my credit card and to complete my very bad day, Manchester City had lost the match I couldn't see. As many followers and fans know, because they fill the internet with pictures and fiction stories about me and my undying love towards tea and jam, that particular day all I wanted to do was drink warm and hot tea, have toasts with jam and sleep under my beloved blue duvet. But when I came home, my duvet was nowhere to be seen. How can a duvet disappear from the flat? Because I'm not lying when I say I didn't find it. I even looked inside Sherlock's room.

I asked Mrs. Hudson if she had seen it and she said no. And when I asked her if she had a spare one to lend me, she hadn't any. It was a cold night and then I remembered that there was someone I forgot to ask about my blue duvet: Sherlock Holmes. The selfish bastard shook his head and denied any accusation against him I've made towards my duvet. So it was time to sleep, I needed to wake up early the following morning and finally he suggested I could sleep with him **(DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING UNTIL YOU FINISH READING THIS BLOG ENTRY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH)**. And that's how I started sleeping with Sherlock for three weeks, twenty one nights, all until my birthday.

I can only say that it wasn't that bad if you ask, Sherlock is a very good bed-mate. And I can't say anything against him, he's my best friend and he made something the normal Sherlock Holmes wouldn't do for anyone. One night or two, I woke up with his feet beside my head and his head over my ankles, once he kicked me, he vomited over me, and we talked about lot of things I won't write here. You'll all get bored.

But the missing duvet appeared in my birthday, when Sergio Aguero came to Baker Street **(READ MY PREVIOUS POST)**. And I'm pleased to say I'd punched Sherlock on the face. Before you say _'well, it was only a duvet, you didn't need to punch Sherlock'_ I have to tell you a little story that I'll only summarize it in a few lines. That duvet, the very same one Sherlock admitted he burned because he needed to do an experiment with it, was the one my granddad gave me before I left to Afghanistan and the one I used as a kid. It was a memory from my family and it held too many good memories. And yes, you read well, Sherlock burned it for the sake of a case and an experiment.

I was so angry, and I even considered the idea of moving out because the situation was getting on my nerves. I couldn't believe what Sherlock did until he dragged me to the train station to get on a train and go to Manchester. And Before I continue with Manchester, I avoided an important past of this case. Sherlock had managed to save most of the duvet. He researched on my family and on the internet and I suspect Mycroft was behind this as well. Because when we arrived in Manchester, Sherlock told me he knew someone who was able to fix the duvet. And we met Mary and Alice Morstan. Two lovely women who ran their own business there. Apparently Sherlock had been in touch with them during the three weeks we slept together and Mary assured him she could fix it. Believe it or not, Mary was the granddaughter of the woman who had sold my grandfather the same blue duvet Sherlock burned.

To finish this blog entry, the following day we came back from Manchester with Mary. Sherlock had insisted she must come with us and move to London. Mary is a very talented dressmaker and seamstress. And we are dating now.

**14 COMMENTS**

"But certainly, after spending three weeks sleeping with Sherlock Holmes **(DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING UNTIL YOU FINISH READING THIS BLOG ENTRY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH)**I think this particular situation, 'case' fits perfectly, deserves to be told." Seriously John, I knew you were writing about this.

**Sherlock Holmes** 1 June 15:17

No you didn't. And you're welcome.

**John Watson **6 June 15:18

"DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING UNTIL YOU FINISH READING THIS BLOG ENTRY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH" John! What's going on?

**Harry Watson** 6 June 15:20

Read the post, Harry.

**John Watson** 6 June 15:22

Congratulations, dear. Mary is a lovely girl.

**Mrs. Hudson** 6 June 15:25

Thank you, Mrs. H

**John Watson** 6 June 15:27

Another case solved!

**Mike Stamford** 6 June 15:31

"Sherlock had insisted she must come with us and move to London" I had to, because someone I know couldn't say a word.

**Sherlock Holmes** 6 June 15.35

I'll ignore that comment. There's risotto on the fridge. Do not tell me you don't know how to use the microwave. This is the last time I'm cleaning it after finding a toe inside.

**John Watson** 6 June 15.37

Thank you for the kind words, John. But you should cook something different for Sherlock. Hey Sherlock join us for dinner!

**Mary Morstan** 6 June 18.59

No, Sherlock has a case. I'm going now, Mary.

**John Watson** 6 June 19.01

No I don't have any case tonight. Thank you for the invitation Mary. I'm certainly going.

**Sherlock Holmes** 6 June 19.03

No, you're not!

**John Watson** 6 June 19.04

Let's go, John. Mary is waiting!

**Sherlock Holmes** 6 June 19.06

* * *

**AN:**** THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE FEEDBACK AND LOVE! I'M SO HAPPY ALL OF YOU LIKED MY VERSION OF MARY. I WAS SO NERVOUS AND INSECURE ABOUT HER, BUT MOST OF YOU LOVED HER!**

**THIS IS A BONUS CHAPTER WHICH WORKS (I hope so) AS A LITTLE INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND BOOK, ****"TERMITES AT BAKER STREET" (It will be up tomorrow!)  
**

**STAY TUNED AND IF YOU ARE INTERESTED AND IF YOU WANT TO READ WHAT WILL HAPPEN WITH JOHN, SHERLOCK AND MARY, YOU CAN ADD ME TO YOUR AUTHOR ALERTS SO YOU KNOW WHEN I POST THE SECOND BOOK. **

**THANKS AGAIN FOR THE ALERTS, FAVS AND TO ALL OF YOU WHO TOOK YOUR TIME TO REVIEW.**

**LOTS OF LOVE,**

**MrsCumberbatch.**


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